Moby could be described as a reluctant celebrity. He first found his way into the collective consciousness with the 1992 rave anthem "Go." In the faceless world of techno culture success remained within his comfort zone. For the remainder of the decade he released his increasingly hybrid electronic-based music with little fanfare outside of the dance world. His 1999 album Play, barely made a ripple in the ocean of record sales when it first came out.

However, after a series of high profile film, TV and ad licenses, Play was propelled into the mainstream and Moby into the media maelstrom with it. Track 5 from the album, "South Side," a little duet with Gwen Stefani, subsequently gained momentum, becoming an MTV staple for many months. It reached number 14 in the Billboard Hot 100 and number 3 on the Modern Rock singles chart in 2001. Play went on to sell over 10 million copies worldwide.

As film director David Lynch succinctly puts it, "Success is just as dangerous as failure, maybe more." In the years since "South Side" graced the charts, Moby has not exactly been chasing similar commercial success -- far from it -- however many automatically assume he has. After all, money and fame are the goals of every artist right?

Wrong. Back in October of last year, when SuicideGirls last spoke with Moby, he told us he wanted his next album to be "a really emotional, beautiful record." Expanding on the subject, he continued, "I don't know if I will succeed, but my goal is to make something very personal, very melodic, very beautiful. And hopefully interesting at the same time." By these standards, Moby has indeed succeeded, his new album, Wait For Me, being all that and so much more.

But, since contemporary society quantifies success in commercial terms, it's easy for certain areas of the media to talk about Moby and his post-Play music in disparaging terms. It's understandable therefore, that Moby looked upon his looming press day in Los Angeles to promote an "introspective" and "vulnerable" record that's the antithesis of commercial with a high degree of trepidation.

Nicole Powers: I was reading your blog. In a recent entry you say, "Headed to la tomorrow...Now I get to go and talk about myself to benign strangers." Are we the benign strangers?

Moby: Hopefully benign.

NP: It's an interesting choice of phrase. Have you been talking to some non-benign press lately?

M: It's one of those things where although I'm an American artist, I was born in New York, and I grew up in the States, I spend very little time here, and for some reason the States is the county where I'm most loathed.

NP: Well it's hard to be a hero in your own backyard.

M: I'm OK with not being a hero, what's strange though is being hated by so many people I've never met. Friends of mine will actually go online and read stuff. I don't read my own press anymore because a lot of it has been really negative. Not for the past year or so, but there was a period where so much stuff that was written about me was very vitriolic and very hateful, so as a result I just stopped reading it.

I'm not whining or looking for pity I'm just saying it's a little strange...Maybe I'm just too familiar. The people that hate me seem to be specifically a lot of the media in New York. It's just odd because I do find myself being a little bit nonplussed at what I've done to incur such wrath. Just a little bit bewildered. But, it is what it is and I can't be too concerned about it.

NP: I guess also you had that big hit with Gwen Stefani with "South Side" and that put a level of expectation out there that other people put on you that I know you never really felt yourself.

M: I grew up playing in punk rock bands and then DJing at tiny little clubs, and I never expected to have a record contract. I never expected to have any success. I certainly never expected any mainstream success, and so when I had some mainstream success it felt anomalous and confusing and unplanned for. I mean, there are musicians who, their whole life, strive for mainstream success.

NP: And the goal is fame and the music is a means to an end.

M: And it never even crossed my mind that that was possible [for me] 'cause when I was growing up the musicians I liked never sold records and never made money. I just assumed that for me to be a happy musician I would be an underground musician who would never sell records and never make money. So whenever I sold some records and made some money it was just very confusing.

NP: A happy accident?

M: Well, in hindsight I don't know how happy it was. I mean, at times I would have a degree of success, and then there were times when I liked it too much. Like after the success of the album Play.

When Play first came out it was a failure. When it was first released it sold nothing, it didn't get good reviews, it didn't get radio play. Then it slowly became this very big record and I got caught up in it a bit too much. I was drinking too much, and going out all the time, and dating the wrong people and going to red carpet events because I felt like we live in this culture that places such value on fame and wealth that when suddenly you have the opportunity to be famous you're supposed to do it.

Everybody just assumes that if you have the opportunity to be famous you're supposed to be famous 'cause it's going to make you happy. So I kind of went along with it and then at some point looked at what it was doing to me, and fame was in no way making me happy. If anything, it was making me confused and depressed. Most people, and I'm not complaining, again 'cause there are few things more annoying than a quasi-public figure complaining about the perils of public-figuredom...

NP: ...But you're in a position to have a choice about which route you want to go.

M: At some point I was touring and I was drinking and I was taking drugs and I was being degenerate, and I was doing all these stupid clichd famous person things, and I'd never been less happy. So then I would drink more and make myself even less happy. And I realized as an institution, fame, there's nothing about it that's sustainable. It alienates people -- it alienates good people -- and it attracts the wrong people. Again, I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. I almost feel like I'm talking like an anthropologist, and I was the case study.

NP: It's interesting given the context, given where this particular album has come from. In the official album announcement on your website you talk about how you were inspired by David Lynch, his BAFTA lecture and a conversation the two of you had afterwards, where he spoke about how creativity shouldn't be purely judged by its success in the marketplace. Today a painting is judged by the price it fetches at auction and a recording artist is judged by the number of records they sell...

M: ...And living in New York or LA it's unfortunately easy to buy into that a little bit. Because you go out to parties with people who are in the media and when they say something's successful everyone just immediately assumes they're talking about how much money it's generated. So talking to David Lynch a couple of years ago, and hearing him talk about creativity, and how really art and music and literature and movies, they should be judged by how they affect someone emotionally; The subjective reaction of the audience is what makes something successful. So if a musician puts out a record and it sells poorly but is very important emotionally to the few people, that should be considered a successful record. But in the world in which we live that's not how people value things -- that's not how the media values things -- and I think that's regrettable.

NP: And your job as an artist is to create art, it's not necessarily to create something that anyone else likes.

M: I'm sort of a populist, so if I make a record I like the idea of other people responding favorably to [it], it just can't be that many people. It's like when I've had records that have sold millions of copies it's just been a mistake. That's not my lot in life. I'm not supposed to be that artist, and I don't know how it happened. And it's weird because the ramifications are very strange more than anything else. Now I feel I'm in the process of having to sort of force myself very hard to get back to what is actually really important to me, as a person, as a musician, which is making quiet introspective music that I love.

NP: And that's what this album is. I adore this album. It's like taking a warm bath. I was on SuicideGirls Twitter, and I said I was listening to the new Moby album, and someone replied saying, "techno? r u serious?" I responded: "Definitely not techno...very serious, and beautiful, and haunting, and melancholy." To me it's like listening to the seed of a dandelion floating away in the wind.

M: See in my mind, that makes me feel successful. Having one person tell me that I've done something that they like, it's clear, objective success as far as I'm concerned as opposed to random metrics presented to you by an accountant. That relationship between the musician and someone who is willing to listen to the music -- and it's hard for me to talk about it and not sound disingenuous, and not sound like an overly earnest grad student -- but I do think the musician and the listener, the relationship between the two, is sacred. There's a lot of responsibility that comes with it from a musician's perspective. If someone's going to take an hour and sit down and listen to a record I've made I should i]really try and make it worth their while.

I mean my job, it's serving. I try to serve the people who are willing to listen to my records -- specifically with this record. I think I lost the plot there for a little while about 5 years ago. 'Cause again, we live in this world where it seems like a lot of people work under the assumption that the rock star is supposed to be served by his or her audience, and I think it's exactly the opposite you know. The musician has a fairly sacred responsibility to try and create something of merit for anyone who's willing to pay attention to it. I know I say these things, and I think, am I really that earnest? But I guess I am.

NP: So what was the thought process with this record. Obviously Last Night was about you wanting to convey...

M: A fun dance record.

NP: What were you trying to convey with this record?

M: Musically, I like a lot of different types of music. I love speed metal and punk rock and I love quiet classical music, disco and folk music. I like just about everything. But the music that is most near and dear to me, the music that I love the most tends to be more quiet, introspective, personal music, and I realized that I've never made a genuinely quiet introspective record. Suddenly I woke up and said to myself, if that's the music that you love the most why isn't that the music that you're making.

NP: Did you come up with an answer to that question?

M: I think it's because again, there other genres of music that I really like. Like the last album, Last Night, I love dance music, and that was a record that was really fun to make...At the time I was drinking a lot and taking a lot of drugs and going out all the time, and DJing and having fun, so I wanted to make a record that kind of reflected that without a whole lot of self-analysis or introspection. But I do really like quiet, personal introspective music. That's the music that's the most precious to me.

I love a good old Clash record and I love listening to Pantera, I love listening to the Rolling Stones but the music that I adore the most is Nick Drake or Joy Division or Sigur Rs, quieter records and music that really aspire to be beautiful.

I tend to think of it in terms of there's social records and personal records. I love the Clash, it's very social. If you had 20 people over on a Friday night and you're all drinking beer put on a Clash record and it's great. Lying in bed at 9 o' clock on a rainy Sunday morning you want something that is more personal, and, as much as I love social records, it's those personal records that I tend to really cherish.

NP: So what else is in the Sunday morning collection?

M: I listen to a lot of classical music, a lot of quiet electronic music, everything from Nick Drake to Leonard Cohen. I mentioned Sigur Rs, some Radiohead songs, songs where you really feel the artist, whether they are or whether they aren't, but you feel as if the artist is making themselves vulnerable through their work.

Maybe that's it. Maybe there's vulnerable music and un-vulnerable music. It's the same thing with people. I love entertaining, funny people -- that's fun -- but people who are comfortable being emotionally honest and being vulnerable, that's the most attractive quality a person can have.

NP: It's easy for a guy to make and like loud punk rock music, because that's what guys are supposed to do, but for guys to make emotional, beautiful music, it's not considered as manly.

M: But luckily there's precedent for it. But you're right, there's so much music that is cool or fun or stylish or loud, and I like a lot of it, but it's that challenge for a man to make music that is more thoughtful and beautiful and introspective.

NP: And the flip side of that is, as a consumer, there's the music guys can admit to liking and there's the music they quietly listen to at home.

M: We live in a culture where there's so much focus on faade and presentation. Every rapper needs to be cool and tough, every indie rocker needs to be aloof and ironic, every speed metal punk rock guy needs to be tough, and after a while it's exhausting.

NP: I think it's why the Ramones T-shirt has become ubiquitous apparel because it's such a safe item of clothing to wear. It says you're edgy without the need to actually be edgy...

M: ...but you're still fun.

NP: Yeah. It's says all these things. But I often wonder how many people wearing those T-shirts really like the Ramones music, and how many would really rather listen to something completely different. It's that shorthand...

M: Yeah, and by taking such a position, by wearing a certain type T-shirt, by having a certain type of disposition, by making a certain type of art or music it's like they're ways to strategically make yourself immune from criticism. If you make music that is ironic, no one can criticize you because you're being ironic. If you make music that's cool and stylish, same thing, you can't be criticized for it. But, I live in the Lower East Side of Manhattan where there is so much stuff that's like ironic and cool and what have you, it exhausts me after a while.

NP: But the people who make that kind of music are a product of their environment, and it's such a snarky culture that you put the layer of irony in there as a protective barrier.

M: It's all these defences and buffers. Like I was on a train going back from DC to New York, and there was this guy behind me on his cell phone and he was talking like a rapper from 1991. I turned around and it was kind of an obese, white Jewish kid. It was so heartbreaking in a way, because he was just being protective and defensive.

The truth is the only people that are genuinely tough and cool are sociopaths. It's so easy to see in 4-year olds. Like if you go over to a friends house and there's a 4-year old who is being a bully and being tough, you know that they're scared. But with adults we don't see that; if someone's being tough and cool we kind of assume that they are tough and cool. There are no tough and cool people. Everybody's mortal, everybody's scared, everybody's afraid, everybody wants the same thing. They all want love and understanding and respect and compassion, and the only time they don't is when they're so emotionally broken that that part of themselves has been killed off.

So musically, with this record I wanted to try and make something that didn't have a lot of pretense to it. And I never know if I'm going to succeed at what I'm doing but I think if I go into something with intentions that are a little bit healthier it increases the chances that I'll accomplish what I'm trying to do.

NP: Do you have plans to do anything live?

M: I'm touring Europe this summer. I'm doing some very big festival shows, and then also some smaller shows in interesting venues. Like I'm playing in London at the Royal Festival Hall. It's this Meltdown Festival that's curated by Ornette Coleman. Patti Smith is playing, I'm playing, Yoko Ono's playing and it's a really interesting festival. So smaller shows like that and then big festivals. But coming to the States, I'm supposed to tour here, but it's kind of scary and daunting because I don't think anyone here likes [me]. I have his vision of touring America and having no one come to the shows I'm playing, which would be a good abject lesson in humility -- but I don't know if I necessarily need a month and a half of abject lessons in humility.

NP: It's been a while since you've done the full live show.

M: It's been a long time.

NP: When was the last time you did the full live show here?

M: Five years ago. And even then I didn't tour. Most of my touring was overseas, so in the States, maybe I'll play a tour of the States and play to fifty people a night, which would be an interesting juxtaposition; You're in Europe and you're playing to 100,000 people a night and you come home and you're playing to 50 people a night.

NP: I guess going back to the David Lynch scenario, if it leaves an impression on those 50 people.

M: A lot of it is context. There's nothing wrong with playing to 50 people a night as long as it's a venue that comfortably accommodates 50 people. Paying to 50 people in a venue that holds 2,000 people, that is tragic and depressing. I've been there. I mean the first time I played Italy was at a venue that holds 2,000 people and there were 8 people there. That's an empty venue.

NP: How long ago was that?

M: 1995. And so in the States if I'm touring and no one shows up, no one shows up. You make the best with what you have.

NP: Well I have a feeling that more than 50 people will show up.

M: You know, I do hope that you're right, but I don't know. Part of this is living in New York where a lot of people are very mean spirited and very snarky, and so I sometimes forget that there are people in the United States who are not inherently mean-spirited and snarky. I think living in the United States being criticized so much I've developed a little bit of a beaten dog complex.

NP: The level of snarkiness, it's group-think in New York. You can't beat them so it's easier to join the club. So everyone's out-snarking each other and it gets to a point where there's a rage of snarkiness. It makes people afraid to do anything that's outside of the safe realm of hipsterness because of the raging snark.

M: The raging snark -- it like a Roald Dahl book or something.

NP: It's a beast living in the heart of New Yorkers.

M: And it's weird because it's not everybody. There are nice people, but it's that culture of cruelty. I remember when the whole world of Gawker and Gothamist first started and the vitriol and scorn that was heaped on everybody. At first it was heaped on movie stars and musicians, and then editors and authors, and then suddenly everybody hated everybody else. Friends of mine who were assistants to interior decorators were getting torn apart on these gossip sites. I guess the only good thing about that is that it's democratic vitriol, like everybody's hated.

NP: Do we need to send New Yorkers to group therapy?

M: I think maybe you have to appeal to people's self-interest. And the simple question I would like to ask people is, on your deathbed what do you want to remember? You're lying on your deathbed and you're looking back at your life, do you really want to remember going online and writing nasty things about people you've never met? Like that's your life's accomplishment. Or do you want to remember working hard and helping people, and being nice to the people around you and being a good, loving, compassionate, tolerant, understanding person? If I was on my deathbed I'd much rather remember aspiring to be a good, decent, compassionate person than writing nasty things about public figures, but also I'm biased because I just want people to stop writing nasty things about me.

Wait For Me is released June 30. The video to the first single, "Shot in the Back of the Head," which was animated by David Lynch, can be viewed HERE.